


Storms

by A Magiluna Stormwriter (ariestess)



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-04
Updated: 2006-07-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 07:06:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/416113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariestess/pseuds/A%20Magiluna%20Stormwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It would be far too easy to let go, to succumb to the emotional rollercoaster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Storms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrswoman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrswoman/gifts).



> Date: 20 June - 4 July 2006  
> Word Count: 1515  
> Summary: It would be far too easy to let go, to succumb to the emotional rollercoaster.  
> Warnings: If you can't get past the concept of two women in a romantic relationship of any kind, get the fuck out of my story, yo…  
> Website: ShatterStorm Productions – Frisked & Conquered  
> Link to: <http://f-n-c.shatterstorm.net/>  
> Archive: ShatterStorm Productions only…all others ask for permission & we'll see…
> 
> Author’s Disclaimer: "CSI: Crime Scene Investigators," the characters, and situations depicted are the property of Jerry Bruckheimer Television, Alliance Atlantis, and CBS Productions. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. This site is in no way affiliated with "CSI: Crime Scene Investigators," CBS, or any representatives of the actors.
> 
> Author’s Notes: This started out as a request from [](http://mrswoman.livejournal.com/profile)[**mrswoman**](http://mrswoman.livejournal.com/) , who'd requested a Catherine/Sofia piece with the prompt of ["deep... either in the context of the ocean or in the context of intense."](http://ariestess.livejournal.com/598992.html?thread=1643216#t1643216) It was originally for my [](http://smut-69.livejournal.com/profile)[**smut_69**](http://smut-69.livejournal.com/) [Sofia Curtis table](http://ariestess.livejournal.com/598992.html), but then the muses got all angsty on me. I tried to fight it, as my Catherine muse is normally not my angst monkey. That's Sara's job [among others]. But then, I decided to let them get this out of their system. And this is what came out. It's certainly not what I was expecting, in any way, shape, or form.
> 
> Title Notes: When I'd put this to my little beta group, I got a lot of comments on the whole "storms" analogy for Sofia's eyes, which I also liked. And it reminded me so much of the Fleetwood Mac song "Storms." And the title was born…
> 
> Dedication: Written for [](http://mrswoman.livejournal.com/profile)[**mrswoman**](http://mrswoman.livejournal.com/), as it was originally her request. And maybe, just maybe I can find a way to make canon Catherine likeable again…

  


We've all heard the cliché before. The lighter your eye color, the darker they turn when you're turned on. I never put much stock in the cliché. I mean, come on, the only reason they seem darker is because the pupils dilate.

I've been told my eyes go lighter the hornier I get. Somebody actually videotaped me once to prove it. There wasn't much I wouldn't do back in the days of dancing and drugs. Thankfully, I was wise enough to get the one and only tape of that night. It's a great reminder of the hell I pulled myself out of.

"Catherine?"

The husky, curious tone of your voice pulls me out of my reminiscing with a sheepish grin and a heady kiss. I can easily lose myself in the taste of your kisses. Luckily, you happen to like them, and you indulge my craving often.

You moan throatily and suck in a lungful of air. "That was nice," you drawl lazily and lick your lips. "So where were you just now?"

"Visiting an old ghost," I reply, and my attempt at nonchalance is laughable at best.

"Must have been an awfully old ghost," you murmur, studying my face. "You went pretty far."

I want to look away, break this intense eye contact that's sending frissons of electricity straight to my pussy. It frightens me sometimes just how far you've wriggled under my defenses. I don't want you to know all my secrets, and yet I never seem able to stop you from unearthing them.

It's part of the reason I don't date women much. They're too intense, too emotional, too easy to lose all my defenses to. After the drugs, and the hell with Eddie, I need to control myself. It would be far too easy to let go, to succumb to the emotional rollercoaster.

Men are so much easier. All they really want is a good fuck, preferably with no strings attached. They really don't care for all the messy emotional entanglements; especially from a woman with a kid. I adore Lindsey, and would sooner die than lose her in my life, but sometimes I get selfish and want a lover who'll accept all of my life: work, daughter, past…me.

I harbor no illusions that you'll be that fantasy lover. It's easier to ignore the selfish fantasies than to hope and be hurt. I've had enough of that most of my life.

I'm brought back to the present again when the bed shifts. Blinking in confusion, I focus on you getting out of bed. "Sofia?" I ask curiously, years of practice automatically masking the rejection and disappointment.

"I think it's best I should leave," you reply, keeping yourself in profile.

"You don't have--"

"Yeah, I do." Your words kill anything I was going to say. "As casual as this is, I'm just too damned jealous to share, even with a ghost."

I study your profile for a long moment, mind racing with the implications of what has just transpired. When you sit down to slip your shoes on, I lean over and wrap my arms around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.

"Do you mean it?" I finally ask, forcing the words past the lump in my throat.

"What? That I'm leaving? The shoes should be a pretty damned good indication, don't you think?" you toss back at me, still refusing to meet my gaze.

I flinch at the angry sarcasm in your voice. Or is it the hurt underlying? Utilizing a fluidity of movement I was known for in my youth, I twist around to kneel in front of you, hands gripping yours tightly.

"Sofia, please," I say, struggling to keep my hold on you. "I don't want to fight. Let me-- Can we try talking about this instead?"

"What's to talk about?" You sound so weary, so defeated, and I swallow thickly past that same lump in my throat. "This is supposed to be fun, no strings attached. I got attached, so I'm gone."

"No, you don't have to." I can hear the desperation in my voice. "Sofia, I--"

"It's not what we agreed to, Catherine," you reply vehemently and finally meet my gaze.

I'm struck dumb by the emotions roiling in your eyes. They've darkened to the deep blue-green-grey of the unfathomable ocean amidst a horrific storm. I imagine that if I look long enough, I'll see lightning arcing from one to the other. The intensity of color is highlighted by your pale face.

"Agreements can change," I finally rasp out. And in that moment of clarity, I realize just how true my words are.

"I never took you as the placating type," you say slowly, as if you're not sure I'm serious. "We'll still have a decent working relationship. I'm not stupid enough to fuck that up."

No, you'll just make sure that Grissom and Brass never put us together on a case. I know how this game works. I've played it before.

I can't do this anymore.

"You can't do what anymore?"

Did I actually say that out loud? I suppose I did, since you're asking for clarification.

Okay, Willows, it's now or never.

With a deep breath, I stroke your cheek. "I can't play the games any longer," I say softly, surprised by just how steady my voice sounds. "Do you know why I wanted the casual thing?"

"Does it matter?"

I wince at the wary defeat in your tone. "Actually, it does." Another deep breath shores up my courage. "I wanted this to be casual, fuck buddies if you will, because I was afraid of getting attached."

"You? Attached? 'Love-'em-and-leave-'em' Catherine Willows? I've seen how you date men."

"Exactly!" I reply, scooting closer as my hope surges. "Men I can play the casual game with. That's all they want."

"So you equate me with men then?"

"NO! Sofia, please, I'm trying to explain here."

When you nod, I smile gratefully and begin to explain what's been on my mind this morning. I barely take the time to breathe as everything comes tumbling out. I don't hold anything back. Either you'll tell me to go to hell, or you'll tell me you're willing to take a chance. Either way, there'll be a resolution of some sort.

As I'm talking, I study your face intently, looking for any clues that might hint at what you're thinking. But you remain passively stoic, only a hint of emotion flitting across those storm-darkened eyes of yours. It's not until I mention wanting you to be around more when Lindsey's here that your mask drops.

"Your daughter's not stupid, Catherine," you reply roughly. "If I'm around, she's going to find out about us."

"I know, and I want her to," I admit. "If you're willing to give me, this, us a chance, I fully expect everyone will know soon enough. I don't care. Don't you see? It doesn't matter who knows. What matters is that we're finally honest about this."

You're quiet for a long moment, and I find myself fascinated by the storm chasing across your eyes. There's a deeper blue bleeding out across the storms from your pupils. Its very presence gives me hope.

"I don't do things by half, Catherine," you say softly, fingers stroking lightly across my knuckles. "And I don't share. I never have."

I nod and wait for more of an explanation. When you don't continue, I ask, "And yet you chose this casual arrangement of ours? Why?"

Your shrug is a blend of nonchalance and fear, tempered by a soft smile. "I thought I could handle it and…"

"And?"

You flush slightly, but don't look away. "And I thought it might change…me."

"You?" I ask curiously. "Or me?"

"Does it matter?" A perfect echo of the last time you asked me that.

"It does to me," I reply, grip tightening on your hand. "And I think it does to you, as well."

"Yeah," you finally whisper, tears in your eyes sparkling like sunlight on the water. "I guess it does."

As much as I want you to actually verbalize your answer, I think I've already gotten it. "Listen, Mom's bringing Lindsey home in a few hours. We were planning to do the zoo today, just the two of us. You know, the whole family bonding time thing." You nod slowly, and I feel you tensing under my touch. I feel like a heel as I realize you're expecting a rejection. Reaching up to stroke your cheek gently, I smile and say, "I'd really like it if you came with us, Sofia."

"Are you sure?" Such a tentative question from one of the strongest women I know.

"I'm positive."

The storm rages in your eyes for another long moment, and I find myself drawn again to the ebb and swell of emotions there. As you nuzzle into my hand, I watch that deeper blue chase the storm clouds from your eyes. When you speak, I let out the breath I didn't even realize I was holding.

"I think I'd like that."


End file.
